


Broken Masks

by electricshoebox



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Con Artists, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: She wraps herself in rags, and he covers himself in dirt, and they move through the streets like shadows where the lights can’t reach. She doesn’t deserve this.A little contemplation of Caleb and Nott’s friendship, and how Caleb struggles with the two sides of himself over it. Set pre-canon.





	Broken Masks

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve just started getting into Critical Role over the last month and I’m desperately hooked. Caleb is such a fascinating and complicated and layered character, and I can’t wait to see where he goes. And I would basically die for Nott. Their friendship is so important and absolutely one of my favorite things about the show. This is a little thing I wrote about in a fit of feelings. I may make it in to a larger series diving into Caleb’s relationships with each of the Nein, but here’s this for now. Thanks as always to my bff **serenityfails** for their constant encouragement.

She doesn’t deserve this. 

She wraps herself in rags, and he covers himself in dirt, and they move through the streets like shadows where the lights can’t reach. She looks up at him with a broken doll mask covering her chin, and he knows she’s grinning, her two wide, yellow eyes cinched at the corners. He looks down at her with a scraggly beard covering his chin, and he tries on a smile, and doesn’t think it reaches his eyes. She takes his hand anyway, leads him on nimble goblin feet around a corner.

She doesn’t deserve this.

She darts a glance down an alleyway he points her to. He knows every street, named and nameless, the map of the city pristine in his too, too perfect memory. (He takes the fragments of control where he can snatch them.) She flings herself back and tugs hard on his coat, hissing “Hobo’s Rest, quick, _quick_!” 

He drops to the ground, tucking his knees in close to his chest. She pulls her hood down lower and presses into his side, and he wraps an arm around her sharp, bony shoulders. They know their games so well, now, know their tricks as though they’d been born to play them together. She burrows into his side with a relentless sort of trust that never ceases to frighten him to his core, because he knows exactly how to use it, and when the time comes, he will.

She doesn’t deserve this.

Voices drift down the alley, and the clink and clatter of armor. “Was sure I saw—“

She turns her face into his shoulder. He feels the unnatural shape of the half-mask through his coat sleeve. He reaches up, rumpling his hair further, and he closes his eyes.

Metal clangs closer with heavy footsteps. He wills his heart to slow, and several breathless seconds of silence pass.

“Hey! Hey, you lot!”

He shakes his head as though startled awake, and she stirs beside him. He tightens his hand on her shoulders, protective, and to his surprise, instinctive. It isn’t all an act, and he swallows down a knot of guilt.

She doesn’t deserve this.

He blinks up at the guard when a torch is thrust near his face. He holds up a dirty hand to shield his eyes. She turns her face away from the light; he feels the mask press harder into his shoulder.

“Hey! You seen anyone run through here? Not ten minutes ago?” 

He shakes his head, puts on a stutter when he says, “N-no sir, w-we were j-just—just s-sleeping—“

“Daddy?” Her voice is pitched high, and he feels her fingers curl into his sleeve.

The guard sighs. “Damn it. All right then. Clear off, this ain’t an inn, no place to be sleeping now.”

“Y-yes sir, s-sorry sir. _L-Leibling_ , come now.”

“Where will we go, Daddy?” she says, lifting her head but shying from the light.

“We’ll f-find a p-place, m-maybe—“

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the guard grumbles. The light shifts, and some metal clinks, and then two gold pieces land at his feet. “Go on, get a room. Don’t let me catch you out here again.”

“Th-thank you, s-sir. B-bless you—“ A show of scrambling for the coins.

“Yeah, yeah, off with you.”

They make it around the corner and into the street before she makes a gleeful squeal, spinning around him in triumph.

“A free night at the inn, Caleb! That’s the best we’ve done yet with that one!”

He smiles, worn and thin but warm. 

She doesn’t deserve this.

He buys her a pint in the tavern, because he knows her eyes will light up when she sees it. He likes doing that. It’s a good thing to do. And she’ll remember he cares. He cares, when no one else does. He is all she has. 

But she buys him a meal, a hearty, meaty stew with warm bread, and watches to make sure he eats it. She crumbles pieces of bread from her own meal and they disappear into the folds of her cloak. He knows he’ll find them in his coat, later, or on top of his books, stale but sweet. And he’ll remember that she cares. She cares, when no one else does. She is all he has.

Nott doesn’t deserve this.


End file.
